


Women's Work

by a_skalds_tale



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_skalds_tale/pseuds/a_skalds_tale
Summary: Ragnar teaches his sons the importance of what the women of Dunholm do.
Relationships: Ragnar the Younger (The Last Kingdom)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Women's Work

You smiled as you woke up, seeing the small mug of flowers Ragnar had picked and left for you this morning, long before you woke up. He’s up early, up with the birds, up in the dew and frost, being a hunter, being with his men, before his sons and daughter stir in their beds and immediately ask for their father.

The sun shines in through the window, the window across from the door, hitting Ravn’s sword in the right way, sending rainbows of light scattering across the floor. You hear the swing of an axe, the crunch of bone. Ragnar must’ve found something for meat this morning.

The rest of Dunholm still slept. A sleepy fortress is what Ragnar calls it affectionately. You go to the window, which overlooks the courtyard, and has a view of the benches where the men butcher the animals, and you see him. In his bloodied apron, hair tied back in a leather strap, beard splattered with the blood of what looked to be a boar. The cool spring air hit your bare chest, nipples perking at the breeze.

You dress and walk downstairs, where your eldest child, a son, Asger, sat at the table, nibbling at an apple. “Morning, mother.” he grumbled, not a morning person like this father.

“Good morning,” you respond, adding a log to the fire in the hearth, a hearth Ragnar kept stoked all night and into the morning. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” he said. Nearly seven and he is already plagued like his father with the inability to sleep.

“I’m sorry, love. Do you want some oats?” you ask, pouring some water into a pot and setting it above the fire.

“Not really.” he responded, despondent as always.

“Asger, your father will not let you go into the woods with him today on an empty stomach.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

No one knows how a man the size of Ragnar can do such a thing, but he walks very silently. No one knows when he is approaching. He has used this to his advantage many times, and has successfully scared the children shitless with it multiple times.

“I know everything, Asger.” Ragnar’s voice boomed from the threshold. He was bloody, sweating, a perpetual hearth.

“Good morning, my love.” You cooed, in love, so in love.

“Good morning, _Smukke_.” he smiled, not hugging or kissing you yet, not with the amount of blood all over him. You would curse him, curse the hogs blood that he’d cover you in. Your hands would be covered in it later, when it was time to wash at the stream. That was enough blood for you to be covered in.

“Father, where are we going today?” Asger asked as Magnus, the younger son jumped down the stairs, making his entrance rather grand.

Ragnar shot his younger son a look before diverting his eyes back to his eldest. “I think you’d better stay home with Mother today. I must make a clearing in the woods, for the sacrifice for Yule. My men and I must do it, you’re far too young.”

They groaned in unison. “Father!” Asger protested. “Must we stay with mother?”

“Yes, you must. I’m sure she has things she needs help with,” your husband eyed you lovingly. He knew of your current condition, though you had not told your sons or daughter yet. They were too young to notice, not that there was anything _to_ notice yet. Your aprons still hid your slightly swollen belly, and the summer dresses would billow well, accommodating the child until you gave birth.

The boys were silent for the rest of the breakfast, sitting at the table, plotting a joke against their father for his decision.

Ragnar changed his clothes, ridding himself of the butchery apron. Coming up behind you at the counter where you prepared breakfast, slicing apples to top the oats with, his hands went to your belly, face nuzzling the side of your neck. “How do you feel today?” he asked, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your stomach.

“Tired. This will be the last one, Ragnar, I swear it.” you whispered as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“You are strong, my love. I need one more son. I _know_ this one will be a girl, too. Just one more.” Ragnar tried pleading.

It was hard to resist him, really. Always so kind, so thoughtful, so attentive. Happy. Jubilant. Easy-going. _So_ loving. Considering all that, you sigh, knowing, _knowing_ he would get what he wished, and if he wished for another son, for another child, after this one had made their entrance to the world, he would make sacrifices to the gods, pray to the gods, beg for one last son.

And the second light of his life, his daughter, Isak, came downstairs, vying for his attention. “Father!” she shouted, excited to see him. At only four, she was his princess, his angel. She looked just like him, blue eyes, fair hair. A nose like his mothers, he said. All your children resembled Ragnar, and for that, you were thankful. The gods had blessed him with beauty unmatched.

“Good morning, sweet pea!” He beamed, picking her up and holding her against his chest, as her arms hugged his neck. “How did you sleep?”

“I’m still sleepy.” she said, her head on his shoulder.

He chuckled. “You are your mothers daughter.”

“Alright breakfast is ready, please contain your excitement.” you laugh at your sons, heads in their hands, pulling at their cheeks.

“What is wrong with them?” Your daughter, Isak asked, as Ragnar carried her to the table.

“They want to go with me to the forest today, even though I have mans work to do. They don’t want to stay with you and Mother.” Ragnar explained as you set down bowls of oats in front of everyone.

“Oh, Father, please let them go with you. They’re turds when they’re bored.”

Ragnar chuckled, adjusting her on his knee. “You’re a turd all the time.” Magnus smarted back, warranting a slap on the back of the head from his father.

“No name calling, please. Not at the table.” Ragnar reprimanded.

Breakfast went silently, and the boys followed Ragnar out to the stables to get his horse ready. Watching them from the doorway, you could hear their final pleas to go with him. “Boys, you must stay with mother.”

“Father, all she does is women’s work! It’s not important, like what you and the men do.”

Your heart hurt a little at your son’s harsh words. Ragnar kneeled down to their level, looking them both in the eyes. “Boys,” he sighed. “The work the women do is necessary. Do you know how you have those clothes? The blankets we sleep with? The food on the table?” They looked at their father, expressionless. “Your mother spins the wool, makes the blankets, sews your clothes and cooks the food. She cares for us in different ways than I do. I may kill the hog we eat, shovel the stables and repair the hall, but you must understand women’s work is important,” their eyes looked down to their bare feet. “I know how to do women’s work,” he added. “My mother taught me. Because before I married your mother, I had to do everything by myself. I am thankful to have your mother to do all those things. What she does pales in comparison to what I do. And I need you to understand this, okay?”

The boys nodded. “You really know how to do the mending?” Magnus asked.

Ragnar chuckled. “Yes. I did all my own mending before I married your mother. I’m quite good at it, too.”

They smiled. “You know how to cook?” Asger asked.

Ragnar chuckled again. “Yes. I’m quite good at making stews. I never did learn how to not burn the bread, though,” they shared a laugh. “Now, go help your mother. Learn new things today, boys. In time, you will be taught men’s work.”

You hurried away from the doorway, not wanting them to know you heard their conversation with their father.

That day, you taught them to chop vegetables for the stew, how to properly sweep the hall, to make a good starter for bread, and to wash the windows without streaks.

When their father returned that evening, they were _elated_ to tell him all they learned. “This hall sparkles and shines!” he roared, picking them up, one in each arm. “Did you help your mother?”

“Yes! Yes, we did, father. Doesn’t it look grand?” Magnus asked, excited.

Ragnar looked around, observing the clean windows, the clean floor, the fresh loaf of bread on the table. “Yes, it is a hall fit for a king!”

That night, after all the children were tucked safely in their beds, Ragnar made his way to you in your bed. “You taught them well today, _smukke_.” he praised, stripping himself down to nothing.

You were already bare in bed, hands resting overtop of your belly, praying silent prayers for the child’s strength. He climbed next to you, appetite never waning, never ceasing, even during your pregnancies, your bad days, the days when you yelled at him for nothing. He loved you, he desired you, and today was no exception.

His calloused fingertips ghosted across your skin, goosebumps popping up across your flesh as he went. “Did you mean what you said to them?” You asked, turning on your side, facing your husband. “About women’s work being just as important?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Of course I did. My mother did so much for our hall in Eoferwic. Things _my_ father didn’t know how to do, but insisted I learned. I’m glad I did. If you ever take ill, gods forbid, I can take care of myself and our children. It’s important. They are to respect their mother, their sister, for what they bring to our fortress. Our hall. Our family.”

Tears pooled in your eyes, thankful, forever thankful for this great warrior of a man who also had a sense of domestic responsibility so many men didn’t. “When we get to Valhalla, I must hug your mother very tightly.”

He smiled, eyes heavy with sleep. “Why is that?”

You brushed some stray hair out of his eyes, hand cupping the back of his head as you swung a leg over his hips. “She raised you well. To be the man I could only ever dream of.”

“I think she would love you dearly, _Smukke_ ,” he said, his eyes soft. “Father would, too.”

“One day we’ll meet them in Valhalla and it will be a grand reunion, hm?” you ask, curling into his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

“Yes. Yes, my love. But until then I will enjoy all of my time with you here.”


End file.
